


Curling Toes

by Shadowstar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowstar/pseuds/Shadowstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to know what love is, thinking it's maybe what he's feeling. And the only person he can ask is the person he may or may not be in love with. Thankfully, Greg at least has <i>some</i> kind of answer for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curling Toes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SRPB Round 4 prompt 'Toes'. 
> 
> I would also like to implicitly mention up front that I do not ever mention John's or Greg's ages. HOWEVER! John is technically under 18 (though I was imagining him at about 15 or 16 while writing this). Greg, however, IS over 18 (being right at 18 or 19). Still a teenager, but definitely in a tricky position. If this is not to your tastes/makes you uncomfortable, I suggest hitting the back button. Otherwise, enjoy and thanks for reading!

It seems like a simple enough problem to figure out. Secondary-age teen falls in love with older college student, there’s a confession, a getting together, and finally the two of them split up when secondary teen goes onto university. Beginning, middle, end. _Simple_. Or, it should be.

But as John has found,  _nothing_ is ever simple in his life. He doesn’t even know what it means to be in love. He’d never dare ask his father about it, especially since he doesn’t even know  _how_ he would ask his dad that particular question. His dad, who was entirely rather… Well. He was his  _dad_ . He’s heard his mother wax poetic on how she and his father were so very in love when they were younger, but how marriage is more than that puppy-eyed, flushed beginning love. Sherlock, too, had waxed poetic about it for as long as he’d dated Victor, then he’d turned bitter, and then poetic again when the two got back together.  _Confusing_ , is what Sherlock was, but that was alright; Sherlock was rather unusual, anyway, but he was his best friend. And Harry, well. Harry falls in love with a new girl every time he turns around, and has long since decided that she is  _much_ too cool to be hanging around her younger brother who is  _barely_ into secondary.

So that left him to ask the person in question.

Greg Lestrade. Resident bad boy, but so damn  _smart_ . He was kind and he was funny and he actually  _listened_ to John. He’s been tutoring John since he started at university, when John made it clear that he really did want to go to university, himself. That he wanted to be a doctor. His mother had been rather happy, patting him on the shoulder and encouraging him. Harry had rolled his eyes. Greg, though? Greg had been enthusiastic, had helped him look up what it would take, what scores he needed. And, oh  _god_ , was it mentioned yet that Greg was hot?

So, John has a bit of a crush. At least, he thinks it’s a crush. He’d read somewhere on the internet—and yes, so  _very_ trustworthy, the internet, he knows,  _thank you_ , Sherlock—that if the ‘crush’ was enduring enough to last for longer than three months, then there was a  _high_ possibility that it was love.

But, again, John has no idea what love is. And there’s no one except, well, Greg to ask. He just doesn’t think it’s such a good idea, though. It’s bothering him, though, and he doesn’t really feel like he has a choice. He needs to just… do something about it. Figure it out.  _Something_ . And Greg was a college student, and he’s heard stories about Greg’s… experience.

So what if he had none of his own? It was always better to learn from someone more experienced, right? And, well, Greg was more experienced. And possibly one of his very best friends. Someone who he was close to. And, really, who better than to ask than Greg?

“How do you know if you’re in love or not?”

It seems like an innocuous enough question. Harmless, really. Even if you’re really asking the person you’re interested in such a question. The person who is your best friend, outside of certain  _other_ people, though at least Greg’s way easier to get along with. And, really, far more attractive. At least, to his teenage mind. He knows that Sherlock is considered attractive, but the other boy is far,  _far_ too annoying to be anything even closely resembling attractive in John’s mind.

Greg, though.

Well, right now the other teen is choking on the juice he’d been drinking, pounding on his chest, wiping at his mouth with the other hand.

“What brought that question on?” Greg asks, raspy as he tries to talk around the juice he’d just choked on, clearing his throat to try and get more of it cleared out.

John shifts uncomfortably before shrugging.

“I’m just… I’m curious, is all. I keep hearing Harry talk about how she’s  _totally_ in love with her girlfriend, but I don’t get it. How do you know if you’re in love?”

Maybe he’s been watching too many of Harry’s movies, but wasn’t this supposed to be an easy question to answer?

Greg sighs softly, the older teen leaning back against the tree they were sitting under, eating lunch. Greg was supposed to be helping him with his literature paper, but they’d both decided that enough was enough of Shakespeare for now and had taken a break to eat the sack lunches that John’s mother had packed them.

“I dunno,” Greg finally answers after a long moment of staring up into the tree, as though the leaves could possibly hold the answer. “I think you’re just supposed to  _know_ .”

John frowns at the thought, brow furrowing. Because  _that_ made total sense.

“But if you don’t even know how to recognize it, how are you supposed to  _know_ ?” He demands, frustrated, knowing he’s probably pushing a little harder than he should be. But he would rather like to know if he’s in love with Greg or not.

Greg makes a frustrated sound, face twisting as he shifts and turns towards him. “Look, why don’t you ask Harry about this?”

The note of annoyance in Greg’s voice has John ducking his head, shaking his head, pulling at the grass near his hip.

“I can’t talk to Harry about this,” he tells Greg, softly, shrugging. “It would be awkward.”

“She’s your older sister,” Greg points out, almost gently, sounding regretful. John looks at him through his fringe, seeing the apology on the older teen’s face.

“Exactly. She’d just tell me to get lost, and to stop asking questions.” He knows. He’s actually  _tried_ to ask her about this stuff before.

Greg sighs softly, shifting a little closer, making John’s heart beat a little faster as their shoulders knock gently.

“Sorry, John,” Greg apologizes, tilting his head back to look up into the tree again. Then he goes quiet, seeming to think.

Hesitantly, John shifts a little closer, carefully letting his head fall on the other teen’s shoulder. He remains absolutely, utterly still, especially when Greg stiffens. After a long moment, neither of them moving or talking, Greg sighs, almost regretfully.

“John…” He starts, trailing off.

John’s heart sinks, and he knows, as well as he can, that this was it. The end of everything, especially his friendship with Greg.

“Don’t say it,” John tells the older teen vehemently, trying to stop him from saying anything more. “Just… Just answer the question, okay?” He pleads, not wanting to hear the rejection he knows would come. He just wants this moment. Then, when it’s over, it would be over and he would at least  _know_ .

At least, that’s the theory.

“I’m not sure,” Greg answers softly, and John wants to look at him, wants to understand the strange note in Greg’s voice. “Suppose you’re supposed to know by kissing the other person.”

Kissing?

“By kissing?” John asks, confused, hesitating before lifting his head to look at Greg, now. Needing to.

He finds himself caught, then, by brown eyes that are  _intense_ . And so very, very much closer than he’d thought they would be.

“Yeah,” Greg tells him, nodding, his face neutral. Unreadable. It makes John’s palms sweat nervously. There’s a long pause, and Greg’s staring at him, and he wants desperately to know what’s going through the older teen’s head.

“Yeah,” Greg repeats after a moment, and his voice sounds even weirder than before. “You’re… If your toes curl. Or something.”

Greg was stuttering. Why was Greg nervous? He had no need to be nervous, right? Though, the two of them were really, really close.

“So…” He breathes, blinking as he tries to get Greg’s face to focus, as close as it is. “So, if you’re in love, and you kiss the person, your… toes curl?” He suggests, his tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. Chapped, really. He should probably get his mother to buy him some chapstick or something.

Even more curious, Greg’s eyes dart down to his mouth at the motion of his tongue, his breath hitching, and  _oh_ .

“Ye-yeah… Somethin’ like that,” Greg murmurs, leaning in closer, tilting his head just a little, and then quite suddenly Greg was kissing John.

Greg was  _kissing_ John.

_Greg_ was kissing  _John_ .

If his brain wasn’t completely malfunctioning as he tries to figure out what to do with his hands, how to tilt his head the right way, tries to figure out what to  _do_ , his brain would probably explode with the notion of it. But the kiss…

As far as first kisses go, it was rather nice. Clearly, now that he has the demonstration of it, Greg’s done this before. John doesn’t know whether to feel hurt by that or not. To give into that spike of heat and jealousy, or to concentrate on the wet, warm feeling of Greg’s lips on his. In the end, he does the latter, because his brain was quickly losing power as Greg presses closer. Tilts his head, guiding him with large, warm hands.

And, right on cue, his toes curl in his ratty old shoes, and his fingers curl into Greg’s leather jacket as he shifts and presses closer to the taller, broader teen, and he feels as though his  _hair_ is curling in reaction. He isn’t sure if this is what Greg meant, this rush of feeling that has him wanting to crawl into Greg’s lap, into  _Greg’s skin_ , to curl in and around the older teen with his entire body and never let go.

Was that what Greg meant?

After a long moment, breathless and slightly dazed from the kiss, he tries to follow after Greg when the older teen pulls away. But Greg’s hand is gentle, though firm, as it gently keeps him back. At the sound of the almost tortured groan Greg gives, John blinks back to himself, chest heaving a little, cheeks flushed, shorts far tighter than they’d been earlier.  _Weird_ . Not unknown, but he hadn’t thought  _kissing_ would cause that particular reaction.

“Greg?” He breathes, fingers flexing where they’d curled in the leather of Greg’s jacket, making the leather creak.

Greg swallows, closing his eyes, as though trying to gather himself.

“Christ, John,” Greg manages, leaning back in. And for a moment, John thinks that he’s going to get another kiss to his lips, even while they feel a little swollen. But, oh, no, Greg’s pressing their foreheads together, and that causes a warm flutter in the pit of his stomach.

Was  _this_ what Greg meant?

“You have no idea, do you,” Greg manages, sounding pained. The tone of the teen’s voice has John swallowing, shifting, pressing closer, refusing to move away.

“Idea about what?” He manages, trying to get his brain to work. To be  _smart_ , to not be quite so young, to hope that Greg would want to kiss him like that again.

“Fuck, that was your first kiss, too, wasn’t it. Christ, John, I’m—“ Greg starts to apologize, seeming to get more upset by the moment, moving to pull away.

But John plays rugby. And he’s far stronger than most people give him credit for.

John keeps his hold on Greg, pulling him back in, tilting his head up as Greg falls against him. It hurts a little when their noses knock together, slightly more awkward than the first kiss, but it was  _perfect_ , either way. That heated feeling is back and it’s staying.

If this wasn’t love, John really doesn’t want to know what it is.

“Don’t you fucking dare apologize to me,” he breathes,  _growls_ , when he pulls back from the kiss after a moment. Just enough to speak, to be able to breathe, but still quite close enough to be able to tilt his head and press into the kiss again.

He has no idea what he’s doing, not really, but whatever he is doing seems to be the  _right_ thing, all things considered. Because Greg is groaning softly into his lips and pulling him in close, knocking away books and scattering papers around them. It’s  _intoxicating_ , to know that he’s the cause of this. That this was something that they were doing  _together_ .

At some point, he finds himself straddling Greg’s lap, his fingers in Greg’s hair. And Greg’s hands are moving, touching, stroking. They’re pushing up under the back of his jersey, over his sides, across his back. Holding his hips. And even though all of it is rather enthusiastic, it’s all so very gentle. Reverent. And, god, John doesn’t entirely know what to make of that.

Well, at the very least, he sort of has his answer.

His toes were definitely curling, and his whole  _body_ was curling into the other teen. As much as he can. He finds himself shifting, trying to get closer. And, there’s a shift of his hips, and—

_Oh, fuck_ .

Greg pulls away with a gasp, his hands strong and firm on John’s hips, keeping him still as they both breathe heavily, sharing heated air between them.

“Easy, John,” Greg breathes, voice gone deep and rough and it vibrates through him. Makes his already pounding heart do summersaults, makes his stomach twist, has a whimper escaping him and his fingers tightening in the other teen’s hair.

He knows, of course, what the hell is going on. He isn’t  _completely_ innocent. Plus, he’s heard a lot of talk amongst the other rugby players, has been through health class, and been through the uncomfortable but surprisingly okay talk from his parents. He’s  _hard_ .

And he’s not the only one. Which is why Greg had stopped him. Though, really, wasn’t the point of getting hard taking care of it?

Though, considering he’s never even  _kissed_ before today….

“Easy,” Greg repeats, rubbing gentle circles on his back, soft and gentle, and he doesn’t entirely know who Greg is talking to.

“Shouldn’t… I mean, we’re both…” He can’t even form the words, his cheeks warming up, and it seems to make the situation  _worse_ , not better.

“Oh, John,” Greg groans, brushing a soft kiss to his lips, chaste.

“What I wouldn’t give just to…” He bites back his words with a strangled sound, swallowing thickly, and John feels a moment of triumph, knowing that he has  _that_ effect on Greg. That this wasn’t just one-sided. That it went  _both ways_ .

Was he dreaming? Had he laid his head on Greg’s shoulder and fallen asleep before Greg could answer?

If so, he doesn’t ever want to wake up.

“But not here. Not ever here, not for you.” It was said firmly, gently, and that touch on his skin beneath the jersey he’d decided to wear today is once again reverent. It makes John shiver, now, knowing that it means more.

Oh, god, he hopes that it means more.

“Okay,” he returns, swallowing, taking a deep breath, pressing his forehead to Greg’s. Continuing to share breath with the older teen, but fighting the urge to  _kiss_ him again.

Surprisingly, it’s Greg who gives into the temptation, though he leaves it sweet and chaste. Unhurried. Un-frenzied, like their previous kiss had been.

“Don’t get me wrong. I want to, want  _you_ . Just… not here, okay? And… God, John…” Greg buries his face in John’s neck and he can’t help shiver at the feeling of hot breath on his skin, the way that change makes him shift in Greg’s lap, bringing him into contact with the bulge in Greg’s jeans. His arms shift to hold onto the other teen, to be able to press his face into Greg’s shoulder, trying to will away the erection.

But, oh, it wasn’t going to go  _anywhere_ , and he knows it. Not when he was so close to Greg, and Greg was hard, too, and it was entirely possible to get off. His body was a  _bitch_ like that, so says the amount of laundry he’s had to do in the past few years.

“’s not gonna go away without…” He swallows, only to groan when Greg shifts, rocks up into him.

There is a moment, in which Greg seems to fight with himself, before the teen finally groans, and gives in. At least this time.  John has a feeling it won’t be so easy in the future.

“Bathroom,” Greg growls, shifting and gently pushing John up and away. John gives a jerky nod, stomach twisting as they gather up the books and papers, stuffing them haphazardly into his book bag. He’s barely gotten it closed before Greg is grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hill they’d been using to study on and into the cramped little bathroom off the back of the library. It was a two-stall bathroom, thankfully, which meant it made sense that they went in together.

Of course, they also locked the main door behind them.

And then Greg had him pressed back against the wall, crowding into him, pressing a thigh between his legs as he is kissed breathless again. All John can really do is hold on, wrapping his arms around Greg and return the kisses he receives.

Still, despite the heat, Greg still touches him softly, gently, reverently. It makes him shivery and nervous, knowing that Greg is touching him with such  _care_ . Knowing that this is more than a one-off for Greg, especially if that urgency of the earlier comment was anything to go by. It makes him even  _more_ unsure of whether or not what Greg had said earlier, about love being the feeling of one’s toes curling in a kiss, was actually anything to go by.

Either way,  _Christ_ . John wonders if maybe this is what being intoxicated feels like.

His hands grasp and hold on as best he can to Greg’s shoulders, breathing the man in, trying desperately to keep his head over the feelings that are flooding through him. He’s wanked plenty, but this…

This was Greg. And it was so much different and better than he thought it would be.

He finally can’t help himself; he reaches down and between them, nervous fingers touching down that tight black tee, down over Greg’s jeans, pressing against the bulge there. It’s warm and it twitches under his hand, and Greg gives a strangled little noise, tearing his lips away.

“Are you  _sure_ , John?” Greg asks him, voice shaky and unsure, their foreheads pressed together. John’s fingers remain against the front of Greg’s jeans.

And this question, despite earlier, is  _easy_ .

“I’m sure. I want this. It’s okay, you can touch me. I  _want_ you to touch me, please,” he tells the older teen, gently letting his nose brush alongside Greg’s, like he’s seen thousands of times in movies. And, oh, that seems to work rather well, because Greg is melting against him, soft and pliant and perfect.

Never let it be said that John wasn’t at least a fast learner.

Greg breathes out softly against his lips before gently drawing back, gently maneuvering John towards the long, sturdy counter between the sinks. John’s heart pounds, wondering, but he needn’t have, and soon, Greg is removing his jacket and putting it on the counter before pushing his shorts down his hips. The loose shorts, and his boxers, slip easily down and around his ankles, to the floor, leaving John swallowing nervously, finding himself distracted by another kiss even as he shivers at the feeling of the air on heated skin.

Then,  _fuck_ , Greg is lifting him onto the counter, grunting softly into the kiss as he situates him onto his leather jacket, and there’s something entirely  _sexy_ about knowing that Greg had put it down for him, just for him.

His ratty shoes are still on, though, and he finds his toes curling in them as he wraps his legs around Greg’s hips, drawing him in close. It feels weird to have denim against his bare legs like this, knowing that there is someone else’s skin beneath the denim. He reaches down between them and fumbles with the button and zip on them, trying to get them open and to the skin beneath.

Greg chuckles softly after a long moment of his fingers seemingly being unable to get it. Gently, cautiously, Greg guides his fingers, Greg’s own broader fingers rubbing gently at his wrists as he finally gets the button, then pulls the zip down. There’s a rush of air from the other teen, and a shudder, something like relief written in the action as John struggles to get the other teen’s jeans down over his hips, taking his boxers with.

And,  _oh_ .

He pulls away from the kiss to be able to look at Greg’s body properly, to get a look to commit this to memory. He can feel Greg’s eyes on him, too, taking in his appearance in a similar fashion. It feels like a physical caress to his heightened senses, everything buzzing against his skin, making gooseflesh stand out.

Greg was a bit larger—longer  _and_ thicker—than he had thought the teen would be. Hard, head peeking out of the foreskin, flushed and engorged with blood as it is. It looks almost painful, definitely more than a handful. And, bloody  _hell_ , his mouth is watering. Was that normal?

Blue eyes flick up to Greg’s face, finding the other teen with a glazed expression on his face as he stares between them at John’s cock. John squirms a little, flushing. His own cock was long, a fair bit thinner than Greg’s, and curving up between his legs towards his belly. He wasn’t completely toned like some of the other rugby players, but he had a healthy amount of muscle on him. Apparently, though, Greg was  _enjoying_ the view, if his cock twitching was anything to go by.

He doesn’t really have any more time to question what was going through Greg’s head before Greg is pressing in between his legs, up close and personal, hands shifting and pushing at the jersey, touching over his skin with a firmer touch. Still reverent, still gentle, but  _definitely_ there, now. Touching and pressing and stroking and he’d never known his skin was so sensitive before now; usually, when he wanked, he went in straight for his cock, taking himself in hand and just going at it.

Someone else touching him was new. Special.

He wonders what his mother would say if she knew that he was losing his virginity in the bathrooms behind the library.

He shakes the thought off as he shifts and scoots forward, seeking, moving, and—

Oh,  _god_ .

The groan he gets from Greg, and the way that Greg’s hands still on his skin, grasping a little more firmly at him now, is enticing. He hooks his arm around Greg’s neck while his other hand reaches down between them, unable to look where he’s going with Greg nibbling at his bottom lip, teasing over it with his tongue—and that should be gross, too clunky, but it’s  _not_ , it’s just  _hot_ —before he finally hits gold, so to speak.

It’s relatively easy once his hand comes into contact with Greg’s stomach through his tee, and he pushes at it, until he can find the light trail of hair leading from Greg’s navel down, down,  _down_ —

Yep. More than a handful. Greg’s hips jerk, pushing Greg’s cock into his hand, and the older teen gives a strangled sound as a result.

“Fuck,  _John_ …” Greg sounds needy, almost desperate, breathless. And it’s all because of  _him_ . John Watson. Little Johnny who has lived next door to the Lestrades for his— _their_ , sort of—entire life.

But he wasn’t a little kid anymore. And, fuck, Greg was definitely not little  _anything_ .

He gives the cock in his hand a tentative stroke, testing out the odd new angle, though it’s not  _that_ odd. He just has to twist his hand the other way, let his fingers strain a little bit farther to press over that sensitive vein.  Greg’s lips fall away from his completely, his hands on John’s hips, his forehead landing on John’s shoulder, breathing harsh and loud in the closeness of the bathroom.

It was gratifying to know that he was causing that hitched breathing. That he was doing  _something_ right to make Greg shift and tilt his hips into the feeling of it.

It was  _sexy_ .

His brain completely fizzles out, again, when he feels a large hand wrap around him, though. Just resting at the base of his cock, staying there, causing his cock to jerk. Pre-ejaculate is already beginning to make an appearance and he  _seriously_ hopes he doesn’t shoot off like he’s afraid he’s going to. Especially since he knows how annoying it is, since he doesn’t really go  _soft_ when that happens. And the second orgasm’s always harder to get to, takes longer, and he doesn’t want to risk Greg getting  _bored_ .

“Easy,” Greg murmurs, voice rough, low, and he brushes a kiss to John’s shoulder, reassuring in the action and the words.

Easy, Greg says.  _Easy_ for the other teen to say.

Greg’s hips continue to move, though, into his hand. And that’s something, right? Except when Greg’s hand removes itself from him, and his cock gives a pitiful little twitch at the loss of contact, causing the other teen to chuckle. Deep and rough like sandpaper, only it doesn’t hurt his nerves as it passes over. He understands a bit better a moment later when Greg’s hand is guiding his own, tightening his grip gently, murmuring against his neck as his hips continue to move. Greg’s thumb is gentle on his wrist, encouraging, guiding his hand to move faster over Greg’s cock.

John can tell that Greg is getting close, watching the way that Greg’s cock swells, and it’s fascinating.  _Arousing_ , the smell of their sex in the air around them as Greg’s breathing is punctuated by soft little whimpers and groans. Escalating, peaking, and then—

Greg bites down into the soft skin of his shoulder and John’s own hips jerk, cock bobbing uselessly and almost painfully hard as warmth spreads over his hand, Greg’s body shuddering against him as the mess is concentrated against the other teen’s shirt. John’s hand continues to move for a moment before Greg gently tugs at his wrist, pulling his hand away.

A shudder goes through him when Greg blows air softly over the bite he’d created, pressing a gentle kiss to it afterwards.

“Sorry,” Greg murmurs sheepishly, trailing kisses over his neck, his jaw, to finally capture John’s lips again.

The kiss is slow, heated, but it once again doesn’t last. For some reason, Greg is shifting away from him. Moving, pulling back, and for one heart-stopping second, John is almost sure Greg is just going to  _leave_ him like this. And, really, he doesn’t know quite how that makes him feel. But all Greg does is pull off his shirt, muscles built from working on his bike and at the gym flexing, making John’s mouth water in appreciation. The shirt is dropped to the side, and then Greg is leaning in and capturing his lips again, kissing him, his hand—still slightly sticky from his own ejaculate—gently encircling John’s erection again.

A soft, needy whimper escapes John against his will, earning a soft hum against his lips, a soft and easy nip against his bottom one a gentle reminder.

_Easy_ . Right.

It seems, though, that Greg has  _plans_ . His lips are trailing from his again, trailing down John’s neck, until they come to the v-collar of the jersey, his tongue briefly dipping into John’s collarbone. Then he pulls back with a huff, gently pushing his hands up and under the jersey, letting go of John’s cock again to remove the jersey entirely.

Then Greg’s lips return to his skin, trailing over his chest. John swallows, heart pounding, nearly vibrating in his skin at the new feelings, sensations coursing through him. It was shocking, amazing, terrifying, and so  _very new_ .

But he trusts Greg, and that’s what matters.

Even if the other teen continues to go down, head south, shifting and bending at the waist, moving to brace himself against the counter as he kisses over John’s belly, his abs, his hipbones. His cock jerks when Greg’s chin brushes over it and Greg chuckles, the breath sending a shiver through him.

“So very eager. Promise, this’ll be good,” he tells John, making sure to catch the teen’s eye before he licks John’s cock.

Greg. Licks. His cock.

His brain shuts down as he gasps, scrabbling for something to hold onto, finally wrapping his hands around the faucets and letting his head fall back. But he wants to watch, wants to see what Greg is doing to him, and so he forces his head to fall to his chest, his legs wide as he watches Greg lick and taste and eventually  _suck_ his cock into Greg’s mouth. His whole body trembles with the sensation of it, nerve endings firing, his heart beating fast and erratically in his chest.

And then there are Greg’s eyes. Looking at him through those impossibly long eyelashes, Greg’s eyes are warm, encouraging,  _intense_ as they’d been earlier. And it wasn’t getting any less intense; the intensity seems to be increasing the longer they have their eyes locked together.

Because of his position on the counter, he can’t thrust into Greg’s mouth, and that’s more than likely a good thing. But it’s maddening, the pace that Greg is bobbing his head, taking almost all of him in before pulling back off, swirling his tongue around the sensitive glans, before pushing down again. Hesitantly, he forces one hand to let go of the faucets that have become his lifeline to push into thick brown hair, a shudder rushing through him as he forces his fingers to remain pliant. To just…  _hold on_ , not to force Greg’s head down.

That seems to make all the difference, though, and he finds himself moaning, loudly, even as his hand squeaks against the metal faucet, fingers shaking in Greg’s hair.

“I-I…  _Greg_ ,” he tries, desperately, to warn the other teen. Tugging, too, at Greg’s hair. But it seems as though Greg takes that as an encouragement.

He can’t say he remembers the next few seconds, though. He feels like he’s flying, high, everything coming alight as everything goes white. He blanks out, bliss and euphoria and all those lovely endorphins rushing through him.

When he slowly rouses, he realizes that he hadn’t just  _blanked_ out, but he’d  _blacked_ out, and Greg was cradling him gently, looking concerned, shaken. Relieved when he sees that John has opened his eyes with a goofy grin on his face.

“Holy shit,” John manages, feeling completely floppy and very much like he was definitely made of noodles. Limp noodles. Noodles that would in no way shape or form sustain him, or carry him for that matter, if he tried to stand right now.

Greg chuckles and brushes a kiss to his forehead, causing his eyes to flutter again. And, fuck, if this was what  _sex_ was like, then sign him up.

“I was worried for a moment I might have killed you,” Greg tells him, teasing, only  _not_ .

Huh. Had he stopped breathing, or something? He doesn’t want to ask. Not when he can enjoy the post-orgasm high, and the closeness of the other teen, his warmth.

“Nope. Just apparently knocked me out with your magic touch,” he drawls, teasing, barking out a laugh when his side is prodded. Silence settles around them for a moment, and he’s pretty sure that if given the chance, he could probably fall asleep against Greg like this. Though, really, it wouldn’t be overly comfortable for  _either_ of them when it came to it.

“Hey, no falling asleep,” Greg chides gently, pressing another kiss to his temple, letting it linger there for a moment.

John huffs at him, throwing his arms around the taller male, before letting out a fake whine, only to laugh when he’s prodded at again.

“Alright, alright,” he protests, shifting to sit up, reluctantly pulling away from Greg.

Greg, who won’t quite meet his eyes. He gently catches Greg’s hand before  Greg can pull completely away,

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks, worried, heart pounding again in his chest, though for a far different reason this time.

Greg’s fingers tangle with his a moment, and then those warm eyes are on him, and it’s like the sun coming out after a long bout of rain. It feels warm on his skin, and it makes him smile as Greg raises their hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to John’s knuckles.

“Yeah. I’m perfect,” he tells John simply with a lopsided smile before moving to pick up John’s shorts.

As he does so, John takes a moment to enjoy the view, his goofy grin back in place. And earning him his shorts to the face with a laugh.

“Christ, you’re going to kill me,” Greg grouses at him, looking completely okay with that as John clumsily puts his shorts on, not bothering to take off his shoes. While he does so, Greg pulls his own jeans back up and carefully tucks himself away, buttoning up and zipping up afterwards. Once he’s at least moderately dressed, John hops down from the counter to pull his shorts and boxers all the way up, only to stumble.

Luckily, Greg is there to catch him, causing his heart to skip a beat and his stomach to flip over itself and knot itself up, and his toes to curl in his shoes and—

_Oh_ .

So many revelations today; it’s a wonder his head hasn’t exploded.

Greg steadies him gently, hands on his hips as he helps ensure that John is stable enough to pull his shorts and boxers up properly. When he’s done, he leans in and kisses John, probably without thinking. And it’s a little bizarre; John hadn’t really thought about what Greg’s mouth tasted like earlier, but now Greg’s mouth tastes kind of salty and weird and  _holy shit_ , that was him.

Okay, then. He is oddly a lot less bothered by it than he thought he would be.

He pulls away from the kiss, gently, touching Greg’s cheek for a moment with a broad smile before turning and grabbing his jersey and squirming into it. Greg laughs and helps him with that, too, wrapping his arms around him as soon as the soft material is on, holding him close.

Which, really, John is more than alright with.

Sadly, it can’t last forever, though. No matter how much they would like for it to.

It doesn’t take much longer for them to finish gathering their things, trading touches and smiles as they go, smiling at each other every once in a while. Greg sticks his tee in his back pocket, grinning brashly at John when he comments about the mess on it. Once they’re sure that everything’s cleaned up and Greg’s jacket is wiped carefully clean, they make their wait out of the bathroom, shoulder to shoulder.

They bypass the hill completely, neither of them wanting to go back to studying. Though, it’s just as likely that Greg will take John home at this point, but John’s alright with that. As long as there’s a next time, or a tomorrow, or  _something_ .

Unconsciously, their hands find and tangle together, earning grins from both of them as they move towards the parking lot where Greg’s bike was parked.

“You know, you were right,” John can’t help but comment as he settles onto the bike behind Greg once the helmet is secure.

“Oh?” Greg asks, snapping the chin strap on his own helmet in place and zipping up his jacket over his bare chest.

“Yeah. You can tell you’re in love when your toes curl,” he tells the teen, causing Greg to go still.

“John…”

“I know. Just… Trust me, okay?” John cuts in, gently, smiling. “Let me have my bloody moment.”

Greg chuckles, but doesn’t answer as he starts up the bike and turns it towards John’s house, John nestled warmly and carefully against his back. No matter whatever else happened, there was at least always this. And this was more than John had ever thought he would get.


End file.
